Parental Relativity - The Teen Years

There it was, a desperate young face leaning into my space. A barrier of fear and determination falls down over the rigid figure. Words spat out, their arrow-like design piercing through the outer layer of my maturity.  They were perfect shots that landed directly on the buttons that they were intended to press.

Juice rose into my throat and sprang up into my eyes which remained open, along with my mouth. A cluster of words pushed back a rebuttal. And then silence.

An unemotional voice in my head advised me then and there that the mysteries, desires, emotions, and fear of teenagehood had now firmly arrived.

Just how does one survive outside of using the redundant words you swore you'd never use?

“Don’t do as I do .. do as I say”

“I am your mother come what may”

“This is my house and while you are under my roof …”

“You are grounded”

And on and on .. the drone of overused parental phrases.

Then there is the sympathetic sage advice and wisdom from those who surround them. The passive observers or "caring" friends who again rely on meaningless phrases to cut short any semblance of real understanding:

“If they were my children I’d ..”

“Don’t let yourself be bullied by them .. ”

“So what if they don’t like you for a while, there have to be consequences .. ”

And on and on .. the drone of non-descriptive verbal dismissals.

There must be a better compromise I said to myself as I sat alone to wonder. Perhaps to understand one has to put oneself right there with them. Indeed, as an observer of the current teenage environment, everything appears completely overwhelming. To stop and think about it for only a moment revealed a space in which friendship and love last but a minute.  A space where loyalty and trust fade with the shade of the latest lipstick color. A place where words are condensed down into a few letters, and thumbs translate excitement and anguish at lightning speed. Is it any wonder I didn’t understand?

I have two more years before I graduate from the University of Parental Units with an Associate's Degree in Teenager Communication. There were no prerequisites, and the initial descriptions I read about this seven-year (self-paced) learning Course did little to prepare me. I attended many complimentary lectures and anger management sessions.  I had learned that coping skills could not include artificial stimulants and that the Theory of Over-Reacting by Itsonly Natural has to be studied, understood, and then acted upon.

I will tell you that when I receive my graduate scroll it will ultimately confirm that this particular major is based primarily on practice, as opposed to dry parental theories.  It will confirm that many of the most interesting and lofty concepts on teen-rearing have no bearing on the uniqueness of my own children. This being the case, I can surmise that I will not measure my own success by a diploma that will end up behind a frame that bears a .25c sticker on my yard sale table. Nor, will I go back over the years admonishing myself for why I didn't graduate with a Summa Cum Laude Degree. In fact, I will probably not have the time to ponder over my past Graduation, because I will be going for my Master's in Parental Relativity (The Golden Years)!

Until the next time, I remain, Merliz

Good Gracious!

Almost before the ink of my first blog was dry I came down with a "Bug" of some sort! Oh dear, not a good way to start. However, the bright winter day yesterday pushed back the nastiness that had impaired my desire to write and to gain strength. Thus, I grabbed my dogs and walking stick and went striding around the local farm park. I was determined to blow out all of the negativity that came with my sickness.  I was going to get muddy. 

As the snow had been melted by steady rains over the past days, it was understandably mushy. Getting muddy is something that absolutely appealed to the child within me, despite the consequences of mud-caked paws and boots. I just couldn't help myself.

We began with good intent on the wet, yet clean, concrete path. However, the green messy edge of the lane called us. I had to gently persuade the dogs that this was a "walk" as opposed to pee-mail stop and sniff.  A little further down the path we came upon a small and enticing entrance path. I mean you can't just idly walk past an invitation to an adventure, right?

So my two furry companions and I veered into the entrance and almost immediately sank into slosh. Two steps in brought us to a sharp curve that wound around to the semblance of a river bank. The winterized bank appeared not entirely sure where it should begin and where it should meet the rushing water. The confused branches and debris that lay in disarray were quite clearly trying to decide whether they should continue to grip precariously into the sodden earth.   After all, it may be easier for them to just let go and take their chances in the dashing stream.

We swished and we sloshed.

We wanted to continue but it soon became clear that we were muddy enough and so we returned to the safety of the clean concrete path.

One beautiful Great Dane, three Spaniels, and a rather handsome Grey Poodle later, we were halted by a small herd of white-tailed deer. They are always a welcome sight to me unless I'm behind the wheel. They are unquestionably graceful and they always encourage my mind to appreciate their quiet elegance.  About two hours later we surfaced from the path and made our way home.

My cheeks stung with health and I was once again invigorated. Rather than resting, there was work to be done. Paws had to be washed and boots had to be cleaned.  The reward at the end of these toils was a candle-lit tub.

My two darlings (children not dogs) were firmly ensconced with their significant others, and there was nothing left to do but take a bath. This was an annual event for me. No, it's not that I only bathe once a year, it's my ritualistic "end of year" bath. The one that comes right after receiving the most thoughtful holiday gifts from family and friends. The candles, the bath salts, and sweet-smelling new books.

I lit small candles and turned off the electric lights.  I brought in a speaker and played enchanted Tavern harp music with Fireside Crackling. I poured wine into a small red glass and set it down within comfortable reach.  I slowly sprinkled perfumed Epsom, rose petals, lavender seeds, and bubble mixture into the steaming tub. The preparation was done.

I toe-tested the water first before slowly stepping into the tub and sinking into the surfactant foam.  My book choice was "Wolf Hall" which is a persuasive depiction of Thomas Cromwell by Hilary Mantel. My beverage was a rich and dark-fruited Cabernet Sauvignon. My Guidelines remained constant.

Guidelines:

Submerge,

Float,

Cleanse,

Recline,

Read,

Sip,

Rinse and Repeat for a long time.     

It was then time for bed.  Feather pillows beckoned.  It was time for bed. To sleep perhaps to dream.  Tiredness washed over me, but I was happy.  I am happy.  More later. Merliz

The Beginning

It seems so long ago that the little girl in the picture clung to her twin brother's hand. A lot had happened over the years and it had all led to this moment -- the decision of ultimate change. A decision that had raised its head quietly before, only to be consistently pushed down by either a lack of wisdom or conviction -- a conviction that change was not inevitable.

In fact, half a century had gone by. The same battle. Only this time, the small pure light that was hidden within burned brightly, fueled by the strength of knowledge; resolute in the understanding that in the new "unnatural" world of change that was about to begin, the past would be put down and Merliz would become a reality.